Silence
by writes.about.the.wives
Summary: "Maybe one day they'll stop poisoning themselves with lead dust and whiskey and fantasies (of love returned and peaceful lives and quiet moments that don't need to be chased away with meaningless noise)." Emily turns to the gun range to forget Charles' torture, but in the silence the doll house is all she can remember. Explores what could've happened to Emily in the doll house.


A/N: This is inspired by the 6.02 promo, but as of yet the episode hasn't aired so it's most likely AU. There's Hannily if you squint, but if you don't like the ship, it shouldn't affect anything. Rated T for graphic depictions of violence and mentions of suicide - this is dark, dark, dark.

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" **To me, the thing that is worse than death is betrayal. You see, I could conceive death, but I could not conceive betrayal." – Malcolm X**

She blinks rapidly as the gun discharges, but she never winces. The bullets explode three at a time across the room, perforating the paper target's forehead in a neat ellipsis. She blows out a relieved breath. For once, Emily feels powerful – feels like she's in control.

This is how any kind of addiction starts, she thinks, except she's exchanged medicinal pills for metal pellets. When balance breaks and pain becomes the body's new constant, addiction to temporary comfort is inevitable. And yes, that makes the charged pop of gunfire addictive. It's more than loud enough to overpower her troubled thoughts, forcing them to the edges of her vision – distracting her from the formless agony.

But when she has to stop to reload, the silence she's learned to dread fills quickly with strains of sirens and sobbing.

" _Please, no! Please don't do this!"_

 _She screams as she sees the knife slide into him, guided by her hand. She watches Nate dying over and over again, stabbed at a million different angles, and all those months of therapy unravel in a single instant. She can hear his wet gasp and desperate cry and the sick sound of flesh giving way. She curls her right hand into a fist, letting her nails tear into her palm, but somehow she can still feel the knife between her fingers, the handle slick with his blood._

 _She closes her eyes, pressing her hands over her ears, but a siren starts blaring, and she jerks her head up, her eyelids popping open. When her eyes meet the screen again, the siren stops. She understands her punishment then, and not for the first time these past few days she wants to be on the other end of the knife._

 _When she's seen him die just enough times to feel numb about it, Charles shows her a new tragedy, and she watches Nate's family mourning his casket until she can recognize each of his relatives by the sound of a sob._

She grits her teeth, a frustrated scream locked behind her closed jaws. She will NOT let this control her, she tells herself, and pumps the trigger to scatter the memories lingering in her mind.

Every time she shoots, it helps if she imagines Charles on the other end of the gun. It's so satisfying for those two seconds as she watches the bullets rip into the paper, and then she feels sick with guilt over how badly she wants to kill him. Hasn't she already learned that lesson?

But she keeps shooting anyways. She doesn't let herself think about the danger of vengeance. Instead, she tells herself that if he tries to hurt her again, she will not be defenseless. She will know how to fight back.

She will survive this, as long as the memories don't tear her apart first.

But an empty chamber clicks before her. The silence returns again, and her resolve weakens as those memories return with it.

 _She holds out for an eternity against the sirens, and then suddenly her body burns with white pain._

 _She jerks up from the seat, nearly dislocating her ankles from their shackles. It hurts so badly – this is what dying feels like – she should have kissed her mother goodbye – god, is that HER screaming?_

 _The pain of the shock takes a while to subside, but the sting of betrayal lingers longer. Who had pressed her buzzer? She'd eyed her own set of three buzzers, a picture for each one, and clasped her hands on her thighs in a vow to keep her friends safe. But now she can hear the others screaming – it appears they've all given in at the same time, and the second shock makes her reconsider her promise._

 _By her fifth spasm her willpower is drained, and her pain threshold has dropped drastically._

 _She studies the buzzers again, a sob trapped in her throat as she contemplates who to turn on. Just one break. Just one break from the sirens and the pain, and then she won't press it again – this she promises herself._

 _Her gaze flits to Spencer's picture – even through her running mascara the Hastings' stare is steely and defiant. Aria's picture shows her huddled into herself, but she glares into the camera all the same. Hanna's mouth is flattened into a resigned grimace, her broken blue eyes piercing into Emily's._

 _Emily darts forward before she can change her mind, slamming her fist down. A scream fills the temporary silence, and the wail escapes her, her entire body shaking with guilt and despair._

" _I'm so sorry, Spencer."_

She doesn't realize she's sobbing until the gun before her blurs in the wake of her tears.

Emily turns to the paper target one last time, wet fingers wrapping shakily around the handle of her gun, and tries to conjure the image of Charles. But instead she keeps seeing herself on the paper, and it surprises her that shooting that image is just as satisfying as the thought of breaking Charles.

 _She breaks her only promise a thousand times, and feels a physical pain in her chest every time she makes Spencer and Aria scream. But Hanna is not an option - she cannot bring herself to press Hanna's buzzer. Never Hanna._

 _Sometimes she thinks her decision to spare delicate Hanna makes her less of a monster. Other times she considers Charles' motives – how he breaks her friends for a chance to keep Alison, the one blonde he desires – and those are the days she pleads Charles to amp up her shocks enough to end it all._

The chamber is empty again. Her time's up. She puts the gun down, sheds the protective gear, and nods stiffly at the staff as she leaves.

Hanna takes Emily's hand when they meet outside the shooting range. She doesn't comment on Emily's red eyes, and in turn Emily doesn't ask about the flask peeking out of Hanna's right pocket. Instead, she thanks Hanna for the ride – but maybe she should drive, it's the least she can do.

They always deal with maybes and suggestions these days, too afraid and fragile to ask for anything definite. Like maybe one day they'll stop poisoning themselves with lead dust and whiskey and fantasies (of love returned and peaceful lives and quiet moments that don't need to be chased away with meaningless noise).

But for now, Emily turns on the radio, breathes in the metal smoke lingering on her clothes, and wonders if Hanna feels as fractured as she does.

 _Four chimes shatter her fever dreams._ Four chimes means it's game time, _Mona's voice warns her. The reminder shakes her from her haze of exhaustion, forcing an attempt to scramble to her feet, but she finds she's been moved to a sitting position and had her ankles chained to a metal chair. Charles must have moved her when she was asleep. The thought of him touching her in such a vulnerable state makes her want to vomit._

 _She doesn't have time to think about it before the chimes ring again. Charles must want her to do something, but what? She looks to the table before her and its three buzzers spaced out in equal intervals. There's a picture of Hanna under one, a picture of Spencer under another, and a picture of Aria under the last one. Does Emily wear the same defeated expression in her picture?_

 _An index card sits on top of Spencer's buzzer, and Emily pulls it closer to her tired eyes._

 **One press = one shock = one minute of silence**

 _The sirens begin and the card drops to the table as her hands fly up to cover her ears. She thinks she'd do anything to make them stop. Almost anything. Anything except the one option laid out before her._

 _It's nearly impossible to think through the noise, but she holds onto the one truth strong enough to withstand the torture - Charles cannot force her to hurt her loved ones. What kind of person would that make her?_

 _She takes a deep breath, bracing herself against the relentless wailing, and flips over the card to read the back._

 **How long will it take you to turn on each other?**


End file.
